Interludes Of The Fluffy Kind: Morwen and Telemain
by Asophagoose
Summary: Ever wonder how Telemain proposed? Two parts or possibly three, part one up.


Interludes Of The Fluffy Kind: Featuring Morwen and Telemain  
  
~*~  
  
Chapter One: In Which Morwen Is Kept Very Busy, And Telemain Is Distracted By Something Extraordinary  
  
~*~  
  
Morwen knocked on the door of the brown room cautiously. Telemain's arm was even worse off than she had thought, and he would have to stay put for at least another week. It was not a consoling thought, moreover, that with all the reuniting, rebuilding, first-time-meeting, wizard-capturing, celebrating, and overall chaos, Telemain was not getting much rest anyway.  
  
"Come in," said a drowsy voice from inside the room.  
  
Morwen carefully opened the door, just in case Telemain had been napping or something such. She really didn't want to disturb him, and she said as much.  
  
"I'm fine," said Telemain in a sleepy tone that managed to sound indignant. "Really, Morwen, it'll be all right if you just let me be, I can get home easily, if I could just put my arm in a sling -"  
  
"Telemain, you'd never be able to handle a sling on your arm like that." Morwen cut him off, marching across the room and beginning to prepare the herbs, all apprehensive caution disappearing. She sighed, as her good sense came back to her. It seemed to be fleeing a lot lately, while she was around Telemain. "Hold out your arm," she instructed the man. She wrapped the freshly prepared herbs around the wound, and concentrated on nothing else for a moment or two, then stepped back to observe the magician's condition.  
  
He was slightly off color, but not overall too bad. Not as bad as he had been the previous morning, anyway. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his expression was distressed. She sighed again, and went forward to gather the used plants and put them in a basket sitting on his bedside table.  
  
"You need to sleep," she said, looking at the tired magician once more. Perhaps the sword had been magical, or poisoned... But Morwen decided not to think about it. That definitely wasn't a consoling thought, either. After all, she had examined the area thoroughly, and, having exceptional experience in the matter, found that it was merely a small infection, and a very deep cut. He would be better...soon. Yes, that was it, soon.  
  
"I do sleep," began Telemain in his indignant, argumentative, tired tone again, but Morwen cut him off once more.  
  
"Not nearly enough." She picked up the glass of water on his bed stand, and refilled it using the water jug she pulled out of her sleeve. Telemain merely looked at her. "What?" she said inquiringly a few minutes later, picking up several bits of dirty clothing off of the floor; for Telemain had been staring at her for quite a while by then.  
  
"W-what? Oh - nothing, nothing," He discontinued his gaze. Morwen gave him a stern but puzzled look. After doing her little "chores" inside the room, checking Telemain's temperature, and taking Telemain's pulse, Morwen took the laundry basket and the bin of used herbs downstairs to do whatever it was she was to do with them.  
  
Once he could no longer hear her footsteps on the stairs, Telemain sighed. "Morwen," he said, addressing the empty air in front of his bed, "there's something I have to tell you. I love you. Will you marry me?"  
  
~*~  
  
A/N: I am writing this little fic for a few reasons: One, because I am a hopeless romantic, two, because I desperately want to please one of my reviewers, three, because I have been speculating about how Telemain proposes for a long time, and four, because I am a hopeless romantic. Yes, I already said that, but before we become annoyingly long and rambling here, let us move on, shall we?  
  
Uh-oh, I really shouldn't have started this story - now I've got to finish it. Not only do I have to finish it, but I have to finish "It Was Stolen" "I Can Whistle" and this, all before June 21st. Probably not before June 21st, as it's in 20 days at the time of writing, but hey, a girl can dream, can't she? If only "It Was Stolen" and "I Can Whistle" were done already...then I could just pursue this one, as this one is the one I feel like writing at the moment, obviously, as I am writing it. Actually, I am writing an annoyingly long and rambling author's note, which I should really give up and go on for a disclaimer instead.  
  
Disclaimer: All characters and circumstances (as well as the brown room) belong to Ms. Patricia C. Wrede, who really is quite the genius. Well, she's not THE genius, after all, I'm a genius (teehee) JKR's a genius, and my old guitar teacher's a genius (part of a band called Genius Bros., heheh), and whoever wrote that Uncle Cracker song, Drift Away is a genius too. But she is quite a genius, let me tell you that. Now I've written an annoyingly long and rambling disclaimer as well. I'm so proud of myself.  
  
Now that I have put the disclaimer and author's notes in, both being annoyingly long and rambling, do I now have permission for a plea for reviews? Why thank you, I'd be delighted.  
  
If you would be kind enough to review, I would be even more proud than I was after writing the annoyingly long and rambling author's note and disclaimer. But don't be too generous, or you may all have to leave the room - my large head would take up all the space. However, don't leave too many flamers either, because I knock on wood, you know, and it burns. If the wood to knock on burns, there would be no more wood to knock on, now would there? Ahaha, no. Now I've written an annoyingly long and rambling plea for reviews. Aahh, bliss...  
  
Oh, forgot to mention, I just got my tonsils out a few days ago so...*sniffle*...review nicely...please? *annoyingly long and rambling sadness violin music plays* [/sympathy act]  
  
*Looks back on the text* Wow - all that was almost as long as the text of the story...annoying...ly long and rambling, ha, you thought I wouldn't say it, didn't you? 


End file.
